Feed
by figaro2
Summary: Hogan is surprised when he sees old friend Jack Harkness in Gestapo custody. Timelines are under threat when Hogan is accidentally drawn into Torchwood business. Warning: character death .
1. Chapter 1

Feed

Chapter 1

"Mon dieu, it is freezing!" Lebeau complained, stamping his feet against the snow.

"Where's the bloody Commandant away?" Newkirk added, blowing on his fingers, as he cast an envious glance at Colonel Hogan. The man never acted like he felt the cold, he reflected. Maybe officers are immune.

"Report!" shouted Klink, venturing onto the porch outside his office. The prisoners looked longingly at the German's nice warm coat.

"All present and correct, herr Commandant!" Schultz called.

"Dismissed!" Klink called hurriedly, retreating back inside.

"'Bout bloody time!" muttered Newkirk.

Just as the prisoners scattered to their barracks, a car was admitted through the gate, and drove sluggishly up to Klink's office. It had Gestapo insignia, and was belching smoke, a sight which caused the watching prisoners to point and jeer, even as Klink came rushing back down the steps. Hochstetter emerged from the vehicle.

"Wow, he looks mad," commented Carter.

"'E always looks mad," responded Newkirk dryly.

Hochstetter was shouting something about using Klink's phone, to be informed that phone lines were down in the last snow, there was more snow threatening, and he and his men were welcome to stay the night (this last said through gritted teeth, Hogan thought in amusement – Klink didn't like Hochstetter any more than Hochstetter liked him.)

"Coming inside,Colonel?" Kinch asked. "It's freezing out here."

Hochstetter's voice floated clearly across the courtyard."I will need to make use of your cooler." He thumped on the car window and another Gestapo agent emerged, dragging out a man in a RAF captain's uniform, his wrists and ankles manacled. Hogan's eyes widened as he watched the man being dragged to the cooler, with Hochstetter demanding Klink post guards.

Hogan watched them enter Klink's office, and then went into the barracks, the others following. "Coffee pot,Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"I'll take this one in private, fellas," Hogan replied, disappearing into his room and closing the door.

Carter stared in bewilderment at the closed door. "Why didn't he want us?"

"Ruddy peculiar," said Newkirk.

"Maybe Le Colonel knows that man," Lebeau wondered.

Kinch shrugged. "Maybe."

Less than twenty minutes later Hogan emerged, crossed to the door and opened it a crack, watching Hochstetter as he left Klink's office alone, walked to the cooler and shouted at the sentries, before heading to the guest quarters. Hogan shut the door and turned around, seeing his team and the others in the barracks looking at him expectantly.

He took a deep breath. "Lebeau, could I ask you to fix a meal and bring it through the tunnel once you're done."

"Oui, mon colonel," said Lebeau, hurrying to the stove.

"Newkirk," Hogan continued, "Come with me, and bring your toolkit."

"Gov," said Newkirk, following him.

In the cooler, the occupant of the cell didn't bat an eyelid as one of the blocks moved out, followed by Hogan. By the time Newkirk had joined him, Hogan was sitting next to the still-shackled prisoner, both leaning back against the wall and apparently quite relaxed. "Jack," said Hogan.

"Rob," said the RAF captain. "So, you come here often?"

"Hottest place in town," Hogan replied.

The captain chuckled, turning his eyes on Newkirk and favouring him with a charming smile. "Captain Jack Harkness," he said.

"Corporal Peter Newkirk, sir," said Newkirk, saluting, though he despised saluting and didn't quite know why he'd done it.

"At ease," said the Captain. "It's not like I can return the favour." He indicated his secured wrists.

Newkirk glanced at Hogan. "Did you want me to ..." Hogan nodded, and Newkirk set to work.

"Don't break anything," said Captain Harkness. "They have to go back on." Hogan looked at him sharply but didn't say anything.

"Relax, Captain," replied Newkirk cheerfully. "I don't break things, I unlock them." He was silent for a moment. "So," he began conversationally, "you two known each other long?"

Harkness laughed. "Newkirk," said Hogan, "Just the chains, no questions."

"Yes, gov," Newkirk responded reluctantly. "Can ... can I ask what's a yank doing in the RAF?"

"Been living in Wales," said Jack. "Joined up at the start of the war." The chains dropped from his wrists. "Thanks," he said in relief, rubbing his raw wrists appreciatively.

There was a noise from the tunnel. A metal bowl appeared, followed by Lebeau. "Bonsoir, Monsieur le Capitaine," he said, straightening up and bringing over the bowl. "I am Corporal Louis Lebeau, and this," he handed Harkness the bowl, "is Ragout au lapin."

"Rabbit stew," translated Newkirk, to a glare from Lebeau.

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Lebeau," Jack replied, taking a mouthful. "Tres magnifique." Lebeau started talking rapidly in French.

"Louis," said Hogan in exasperation, and Lebeau subsided.

Newkirk, meanwhile was watching the captain wolf down the stew. "When did you last eat?" he asked curiously.

Harkness shrugged. "A few days."

"Ruddy bastards," replied Newkirk feelingly, even as Lebeau started swearing in French.

"Quiet!" Hogan ordered. "Both of you, go back to the barracks."

"Nice to meet you," called Jack as they reluctantly headed for the tunnel. "That French boy's got a foul mouth," he added.

"Always suspected as much," Hogan replied. "Do you know where they're taking you?"

"Dusseldorf," said Jack between mouthfuls of food.

"Why Dusseldorf?"

"There's a research lab there," Jack said.

"What kind of research?" asked Hogan patiently.

"Medical."

Hogan stared at him with a sinking feeling. "Tell me they don't know about you!" Jack chewed thoughtfully. "Jack!"

"Well, that was the plan," Jack admitted. "They don't know everything, though."

"Do you have any idea what they'll do to you?" Hogan hissed.

"I need to get in there," Jack said simply.

"Whatever happened to sneaking in the old-fashioned way?"

Jack didn't look at him. "Security's pretty tight, so they tell me."

Hogan suddenly understood. "This wasn't your idea."

Jack shrugged. "Orders."

Hogan sighed. "Yeah."

Jack finished scraping out the bowl. "My compliments to the chef." He handed the bowl to Hogan with a grin.

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Well, I might need some help with travel arrangements once I'm done," Jack said. "I've got the contacts and passwords."

"Then I'll see you ... later." He stood up, and Jack held out his wrists. "Crap," muttered Hogan, reluctantly refastening the manacles. He turned to go.

"Rob." Hogan looked back. "Don't worry so much. I'll be fine."

Hogan forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't kid a kidder, Jack."


	2. Chapter 2

Torchwood report S3397/F2

Re UFO landing near Dusseldorf Germany July 29 1941. Has been identified as a Freti hunter. Notes on Freti to follow.

Freti – parasite. Physical composition liquid. Exists by invading and taking control of other intelligent beings. Complete dominance of host, with full access to all memories and abilities.

Last known presence of Freti occurred in South Africa in 1899. (See File S3397/F1). The Freti possessed a Torchwood operative and killed seven people including two other Torchwood operatives. All victims had been tortured to death. Before its death, the Freti was questioned regarding its actions and indicated that it was hungry. There was no evidence of physical consumption of any of the victims. The investigating team put forward a hypothesis that the creature was psychic and sustained itself by feeding on pain. The hypothesis seemed fanciful, but no other explanation was discovered.

Surgery was attempted to extract the parasite, however neither parasite nor host survived the operation. The final recommendation by the investigating team leader was that any infected host be destroyed immediately in the event of a second incursion.

Intelligence reports a research laboratory in Dusseldorf experimenting on live subjects. While this is not unusual in Nazi Germany, results coming from this laboratory indicate the high probability of an extra-terrestrial presence. It seems likely that the Freti is in control of one of the scientists at this facility. It is urgent that the matter be investigated, and if the Freti presence is confirmed, that the alien be liquidated and the laboratory destroyed.

Note from Director Torchwood 1: Request loan of asset Harkness from Torchwood 3.

Note from Director Torchwood 3: loan of asset Harkness approved.

Jack sat slumped in a tiny, filthy cell, exhausted. He'd spent hours strapped to a table in a lab, while men in lab coats made cuts all over his body and timed his rate of healing. The cuts were now gone, but his exhaustion remained. He had confirmation, though. His relatively minor telepathic skill was enough to know when someone was in his head, and the presiding scientist in that room was a Freti alright. So all he had to do now was break out of his cell, kill the host, stop the Freti from finding another host, and destroy the facility. Jack stared at the locked wooden door of his cell. Piece of cake, he thought wearily.

He listened to the sounds of breathing, coughing, and sobbing from the cells all around him. He didn't know who the other subjects were. Jews, gypsies, the disabled maybe, the unwanted, anyway. He only knew he wouldn't be able to get them out. So assuming he was able to complete the mission, it would make him a murderer, again. Mercy killing, he told himself firmly, and tried not to think about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Hogan's men gathered in his quarters expectantly. Since the departure of the Gestapo with their prisoner, he'd spent a lot of time on the radio to London and the underground, even meeting with an underground group with an agent who worked as a clerk inside Gestapo HQ. They knew he'd returned with some papers, but still he'd told them nothing, only disappearing into his room with them. After a few days of preoccupation and further calls to London, Hogan finally called a meeting.

"What's the word, Colonel?" asked Lebeau excitedly. "Are we going to help the Captain?"

"Yeah, Colonel," Newkirk chimed in. "God knows what the ruddy Krauts are doing to him!"

You have no idea, thought Hogan. "Captain Harkness is on his own." He gave them a minute to complain, before shouting, "Quiet!" He waited for silence, and said, "He's not our concern, fellas. That's an order."

He saw reluctant acceptance appear in their faces, and continued. "His presence here got me thinking, and I've been doing some digging. It seems there is a trade in POWs , captured Allied soldiers being diverted from proper processing into camps, and ending up ... well, there are worse places than here."

Silence and shocked faces greeted him. "How many?" asked Kinch finally.

Hogan shrugged. "No way to tell. London believes someone in the SS is running the scheme. They're in a good position to make people disappear, and have very few limits to their authority. There's a group stationed in Vienna who seem likely suspects. An underground group in that area observed two SS men handing over half a dozen British prisoners to some men who are involved in running the main rail maintenance. Two of the prisoners were observed later working in a forced labour gang, laying tracks. The group had thought what they saw was a one-off. Our contact in the Hammelburg Gestapo has supplied suspicious expense reports submitted by Hochstetter and two others, a Lieutenant Weiss and Sergeant Bergen. Trips to Vienna, on very flimsy pretexts, followed almost immediately by trips to Dusseldorf and other nearby areas. They're obviously involved, so London wants us to investigate the Hammelburg connection."

His men looked dubious. "London got any suggestions on how we're supposed to investigate the Gestapo?" demanded Newkirk.

Hogan smirked. "It seems Sergeant Bergen is very fond of gambling."

"Of course heis," sighed Newkirk. "I take it we're about to get acquainted?"

"You're going to take him for everything he's got," grinned Hogan. "Which shouldn't take too long as he's had an impressive losing streak lately. And then we're going to blackmail him into telling us exactly what Hochstetter is up to."


	4. Chapter 4

The being known to the humans in the lab as Doctor Pieter Hoffmann paced in its office fretfully. It needed a new host, not for itself, but for its baby.

The Freti cursed at its bad luck. It would give birth only once in its lifetime, and it was the worst possible timing to have this happen while stranded on a primitive planet. But still, breeding time was here, and it was vital that the baby's first host was a good one, physically strong, healthy, and mentally compatible. A killer instinct was needed, as it was considered better for the baby's development if the memories of the first host included acts of violence. That at least was in plentiful supply around here.

The Freti had been very keen on the RAF man in the lab as a host. He had all the attributes a growing baby would need, and with the additional strange resistance to physical injury he would have made an ideal host. However the Freti had made an unfortunate discovery – along with the human's strange resistance to injury he also had an unusually high resistance to mental invasion. The Freti could feed from him easily, but simply could not make the mental connection required to birth its offspring successfully. While this was disappointing, the human's potential as an ongoing supply of food was obvious, and the Freti had every intention of hanging onto him.

So it had gone onto its second choice, and was now anxious because it could not expect the human it had settled on to arrived for at least two more days. It had phoned the Gestapo in Hammelburg and left a message for its target, a general message about discrepancy in paperwork, but one which it knew the target would understand, as the trade in POWs involved some forged authorisations. It would be enough to bring Hochstetter to the Freti, as he had all the health, strength and violence the Freti could ask for. He would make a good host.

The hard mat that was masquerading as a bed in Jack's cell was now hiding one small but precious item, a hair pin. He'd taken it from a woman lab assistant when she leaned too close to take measurements of a cut in his face. He'd used his tongue to remove it and she'd never felt a thing, a sad waste of that particular talent, he thought. It would be enough to deal with the lock on the cell door, so his exit from the cell was taken care of.

He was now in the process of planning his course of action once he was out, the best time of the day to make his move, the route to take, how to ensure the lab's destruction, and how to reach Hoffmann. Casual conversations between the guards and scientists were helping him piece together the information he needed, as they had no idea he understood German. A tentative plan was forming in his head, but he was painfully aware he couldn't wait much longer. Freti feeding, as he'd always heard, was draining his strength, slowing his healing, and if he didn't make his move soon he would no longer have the ability.

Sergeant Bergen waited impatiently for the day to end. He had an appointment at a private gambling club in Hammelburg, and was very enthusiastic to get started. He'd met a very nice fellow at a bar the previous evening, who shared Bergen's love of gambling, and had invited him to be his guest at a club Bergen would never have seen the inside of normally. He couldn't wait to get playing, and blissfully imagined himself already there, cards in hand, stack of chips in front of him, beautiful girls amazed at his winning streak and only to eager to be nice to a winner. He'd had a bad run lately, but he just knew his luck was on the turn.

Hochstetter irritably made plans to head to Dusseldorf in two days time. He simply couldn't get there any earlier, and couldn't imagine there were any real issues with their paper trail, which had always held up previously. He would have liked to send Bergen or Weiss in his stead, but Hoffmann paid well, so he decided he really needed to butter him up in person. It was a damned nuisance though, Hochstetter thought.


	5. Chapter 5

"One hour to roll call," said Hogan, as he and Newkirk began to remove their disguises. "You could get a bit of rest."

Newkirk shrugged. "Hardly worth it, gov." He rubbed his eyes. "Have to hang out for Lebeau's coffee." Hogan nodded silently. "Do you think he was telling the truth?" Newkirk continued. "You know, about the names?"

"With Hans standing over him threatening to break his legs?" Hogan snorted. "And me making veiled threats about reporting him to Berlin? Hochstetter might put up with a degenerate gambler, but they wouldn't. No, it makes sense, unfortunately. The prisoners' names would have been irrelevant, and they wouldn't have kept the dog tags. I doubt we'll ever know who the victims were. But he has given some useful intel. We know nationalities, approximate numbers, and places they might have ended up. We'll pass that onto London, maybe ask the underground to see if there's any rumour of Allied prisoners at any of those places."

"Do you think they'd still be alive?" Newkirk asked.

"You never know," said Hogan with a confidence he didn't feel. The fact was, life expectancy in the places mentioned was usually low. Newkirk knew this just as well as Hogan did, and his expression told Hogan he wasn't fooled.

"He's what?" yelled Hochstetter.

"Dead, sir," said Weiss. "A neighbour found him and called us. He seems to have ... shot himself, sir."

"Why would he do that?"

"He did have a gambling problem, sir," Weiss reminded him. "He was heavily in debt."

"Bah!" Hochstetter waved that away. "He's been in debt for years. The man was an incurable optimist, always expecting a big win to solve his problems." He frowned suddenly. "But there are other ways than money to pay debts." He rose. "We will go to his home," he announced, and swept out, Weiss hurrying to keep up.

However, as they left the building, they were intercepted by a sergeant, who came up at a rush and halted in front of them, saluting. Hochstetter returned the salute irritably. "What is it, sergeant?"

"Sir, I just heard about Sergeant Bergen. I know where he was last night."

"Well, out with it!" demanded Hochstetter.

"He was boasting about going to the Windfall Club, sir," said the soldier.

"They'd never let him in!" said Weiss incredulously.

"He said he was invited, sir," the man said. "He said he had a good friend who was a member , and he was to be his guest. He said he felt lucky, sir."

"This friend have a name?" asked Weiss.

"Not that he mentioned, sir."

Hochstetter dismissed him, and stood silently for a moment, thinking. "Memberships there are ludicrously expensive," said Weiss. "Who would he know who could afford it?"

"Change of plan," Hochstetter decided. "We're going to the Windfall. I want a word with the manager."

"The Gestapo are here," reported Carter, hurrying into the barracks.

Hogan got up, and crossed to the door. "Hochstetter," he said, looking out, "and he's got the manager of the Windfall with him. Man's looking scared stiff."

"He can't possibly have led Hochstetter here!" said Newkirk incredulously.

"He won't recognise you, will he?" Carter asked anxiously.

"You doubt my handiwork?" said Newkirk in mock indignation.

Carter's eyes widened. "Oh no, Newkirk, I'd never ..."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "I'm pulling your leg, Andrew!"

"Oh," said Carter with a sheepish smile.

"Here comes Schultz," said Hogan, and stepped away from the door.

"Roll call!" yelled Schultz as he entered the barracks. He was met with a chorus of complaints.

"Roll call at this time of the day?" moaned Lebeau.

"What's the problem, Schultz?" enquired Hogan calmly.

"How do I know?" muttered Schultz. "Gestapo turn up, demanding prisoners line up, so everyone jumps. So roll call!" He raised his voice again.

"No need to shout, Schultz." Said Carter in a hurt voice, as everyone filed out.

Minutes later, the quaking manager was standing in front of the prisoners from Barracks 2, glancing nervously at Hochstetter. "I ... I don't see ..."

"Look again!" shouted Hochstetter. For the third time, the terrified man trailed up and down the rows. From the way he kept looking back at Hochstetter, it was obvious he was trying to get a cue as to what he was expected to say. He passed in front of Hogan, and Hochstetter leaned forward slightly, eagerly.

"Colonel Klink, I protest," called Hogan immediately. "It's obvious the major is leading his so-called witness."

Having his uncertainty called out like that made the man start back in fear, now glancing fearfully at Klink. "I'm really not sure ..." he stammered.

Hochstetter snarled in frustration. "Put this idiot back in the car!" he ordered one of his men, who hustled the club manager away. "Klink, have this man brought to your office!" He pointed at Hogan, and stomped away.

"Relax, fellas," said Hogan in response to the anxious looks from the others. "Hochstetter's just posturing." He sauntered casually towards the office.

The rest of the men returned to the barracks. "Coffeepot?" asked Newkirk.

"Coffeepot," agreed Kinch, and they entered Hogan's room.

"It's not going to happen again, is it?" asked Carter anxiously, voicing everyone's concern.

Nearly six months previously, Hochstetter had brought a team of Gestapo into the camp, bullied Klink into submission, taken the Colonel into the cooler and beaten him badly. Klink phoned Burkhalter, and it turned out Hochstetter had no authorisation for his action. He and his men had been ordered out of the camp, and they heard there had even been a reprimand. This was cold comfort to Hogan, however, who had taken weeks to recover.

"Non," said Lebeau, trying to express a reassurance none of them felt. "The pig bosch will just shout, that's all."

An hour later, Hogan returned to the barracks. Hochstetter had, in fact, confined himself mostly to shouting, letting fly with a punch only towards the end of the conversation. Klink (who had been given strict orders by Burkhalter after the previous incident not to let the Gestapo walk all over him if he wanted to remain in charge of Stalag 13) spoke up quaveringly at this point to remind the major he had no authority to lay hands on a Luftwaffe prisoner. Hochstetter's response was to tell Klink he was an idiot, to mutter he had business elsewhere, and to snarl that at least Hogan had something to remember him by, before departing.

Back in the barracks, the men hovered around, cursing Hochstetter and asking if the Colonel was alright. Hogan yelled for quiet, before wincing and dabbing at his bleeding lip. "Don't make me do that!" he complained. Muttered apologies came in response. "It was one punch, fellas," Hogan said. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not that fragile." He cast a meaningful look around the room. There was a respectful silence. "Alright. Well, now we know what brought Hochstetter here." He glanced at Newkirk. "I hope everyone remembers Bergen was a member of the Gestapo. That makes him a Nazi, a torturer, and up to his neck in this POW trade. He's just another casualty of war, and no one we need to lose sleep over."

"Yes gov," said Newkirk, and the others nodded. "Ok," Hogan continued. "This was strictly an intel job. What we've got has gone to London. They may approve us asking the Underground to try and find survivors. But for now, we move onto other things. Okay?"

There were nods, and a chorus of 'yes sir's from around the table.

Later that day, Hochstetter drove towards Dusseldorf alone. He did not remember ever being more angry with Hogan. One of his men was dead this time, and that made it personal.


	6. Chapter 6

Hochstetter slumped sideways in the chair, the glass he was holding starting to slide out of his hand. Hoffmann caught it and placed it back on the table, before dragging the Gestapo man onto the floor.

"Wha ..." Hochstetter mumbled.

"Ssh," said Hoffmann, seating himself cross-legged on the floor, and pulling Hochstetter's head into his lap. "Don't struggle. You are about to serve a much greater purpose than your little Reich." He placed his hands on either side of Hochstetter's head, and leaning forward, opened his mouth. The last sight Hochstetter saw, while he was still Hochstetter, was a slimy liquid pouring from Hoffmann's mouth, onto his face.

The best time of the night for taking action, Jack reasoned, would be when the nightshift had been on for some time, and would be complacent and tired. He had located their arsenal, a small supply but enough to equip himself with guns and ammunition. Two guards so far had been dispatched, and still the alarm had not been raised. The building was old, it's interior full of materials that would burn well and hot. He moved as quickly as he could, steadfastly ignoring his lingering pain and weakness. He had to finish his sabotage before the alarm was raised.

He heard an alarm and sounds of running feet in the distance as he slipped into the boiler room. After making some adjustments to the equipment there, he located gas mains next, and then headed back upstairs. He was a little surprised that he had encountered so few people, but then realised the guards would be heading to the exits, assuming that's where an escaped prisoner would naturally be going. He steadfastly put the fate of the other prisoners out of his mind, and headed towards Hoffmann's office, and the last part of his mission.

The Freti was resting on a couch in Hoffman's office, worn out from giving birth. Its offspring had been sent back to the host's hotel, with assurances the parent would join it in the morning. Connection with the host was complete, and the newborn would be able to access memories and appear as the host with no trouble.

It was woken from a deep sleep by sounds of an explosion, followed by screams and running footsteps. It opened the door to the corridor, and stopped a guard who was passing. The guard quickly explained that there had been some kind of overload in the boiler room and a missing prisoner who might be responsible, before running off. The Freti smelled smoke, and shut the office door. It didn't know what was going on, but figured as fire was obviously involved it had better evacuate. It was removing some papers and items from a safe in the office when it heard a noise and turned, to confront a gun.

"Going somewhere?" said the RAF captain.

As dawn broke, the Freti formerly known as Major Hochstetter stood outside the burned out building, watching as workers sifted through the rubble and removed bodies. It felt little grief at its parent's passing. Freti came into the world with an instinctive understanding of how to survive and feed, and it had not had time to form any real attachment to its parent. Most of all, it was hungry. It had walked the streets last night, finally coming across one of the many left homeless by Allied bombing. It had dragged the man into a cellar to feed, but its famished state made it careless and the creature had died too soon.

It examined the human host's memories, and knew it had to be cautious. Even on this war-torn planet, it needed to disguise its meals under another guise, much like its parent had done. The host's position gave it the means and authority to do precisely that.

The Freti exchanged a few words with the local Gestapo investigator, before returning to its car for the drive back to Hammelburg. It was so hungry, and any creature would do, but for some reason its thoughts kept returning to one particular biped, a face that dominated the thoughts and memories of its host, a remembered hatred so strong that it excited and overwhelmed the Freti. The host knew how to make prey last. Well, it would learn from its host, and it would take and consume this enemy, one scream at a time.


	7. Chapter 7

Hogan stood next to Schultz on the side of the road, watching his men shovel snow. He shivered a little, wishing he was shovelling too, but he knew it would upset his men, who often seemed more concerned about his dignity as an officer than he did.

As he watched them, his thoughts strayed to the report they had received about a mysterious accident at a laboratory in Dusseldorf. There was a rumour that the bodies of human test subjects were in the basement, and the SS were backfilling the ruins to conceal the evidence. The men had many things to say about the SS and Nazis in general. Hogan, knowing the truth, considered the terrible choice Jack had made, and worried. There'd been no word of him since. Had he escaped, or was he buried alive in there? Hogan shuddered.

"Ya, it is cold," Schultz agreed, blowing on his hands. "Weather for staying inside near a roaring fire, drinking cocoa." He smiled dreamily. "With marshmallow."

Hogan gave a slight smile in response. "If you've got any cocoa, Schulz, you're doing better than us."

There was the sound of an engine on the road, and a Gestapo car came into view. The driver, an officer, leaned out of the window. "Put your backs into it, pigs!" he yelled in heavily accented English. The prisoners responded with jeers and catcalls, and Schultz and the other guards went to restore order. Give them a few moments fun, Hogan thought, then I'll go and get them back to work.

Schultz and his men eventually got the prisoners to clear enough of the way for the car to get through. As things calmed down he could hear the prisoners grumbling about being spoken to like they were dirt, a point with which he was very much in agreement, especially as he and his men had fared little better from the foul mouthed Gestapo. He turned to make a comment to Hogan, suddenly a little puzzled as to why Hogan hadn't asserted his usual control over the men, and looked around. Hogan was nowhere to be seen.

Schultz's mouth opened and shut a few times soundlessly. "Roll call!" he gasped finally. His men, surprised, obeyed, and got the prisoners in line. Schultz glanced over them, hardly bothering to count, as he knew just about every prisoner by sight at least, if not by name. They were already glancing at each other uneasily.

Schultz had gone very pale as he stopped in front of Kinch. "Sergeant Kinchloe, where are Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Carter?"

Kinch stared back, completely at a loss. He shrugged helplessly. "I ... I've got no idea."

"You're up to monkey business!" Schultz accused. "They've escaped! Are they coming back?"

"Escaped in this weather?" blurted out Newkirk. "Are you barmy?"

"I'm going to be in such trouble," Schultz moaned. "Back in the truck! Back back back!"

"Wait!" Kinch protested. "Something's wrong. Schultz, you've got to look for them. Please!"

But for once Schultz was not to be persuaded. "Nein!" he said vehemently. "Everyone back in the truck!"

As the truck moved away along the road, the bewildered men inside stared at each other. "Where would they go? Why?" wondered Lebeau.

"Wait, this isn't some plan?" asked one of the others.

Kinch shook his head.

"They haven't gone by choice," said Newkirk darkly. "You're right, Kinch. Something's bloody wrong, all right. Something's happened to them."


	8. Chapter 8

In all the disturbance created by the Gestapo car's noisy motor, added to the shouting of the prisoners and guards, everyone's attention was on the car. Consequently only Carter happened to glance in the right direction in time to see Hogan overpowered by two masked men and dragged into the bushes. It all happened so quickly that by the time he'd processed what he'd just seen Hogan had already disappeared.

"Hey!" he yelled, pointing. "HEY!" No one heard him. Carter hesitated only a moment longer, before taking off after the kidnappers. Keep them in sight, he told himself, and maybe you'll get a chance to get the Colonel away from them.

He trailed the men cautiously. Despite the ongoing jokes the others made about his clumsiness, Carter could be very quiet when he had to be, and he was now using every skill his grandfather had taught him to track them. The Colonel was unconscious, he could see, being dragged along roughly rather than walking. Carter had seen one of them hold a cloth over his face. Chloroform, then, or maybe ether. But who were the kidnappers? Carter had yet to hear either of them speak a word, and could not guess.

The men he was trailing emerged onto another road, where a car was waiting for them. It was like many other German cars, with no insignia to mark it as military. Even so, Carter started to wonder if the kidnappers were Gestapo. But why would they kidnap the Colonel?

After Hochstetter's incursion into Stalag 13, they had discovered he had been in a great deal of trouble, and was told that if he wanted to question Hogan again he'd have to produce a smoking gun first. Still, Carter thought, why not frame him for something? It wasn't as if they didn't have the facilities to do it.

The kidnappers loaded their still unconscious prisoner into the back of the car, securing him with handcuffs. AS they got in the front, Carter slid up behind the car, and, muttering a short prayer, tried the handle. It was unlocked, and he slid inside quietly, closing the lid just as the car began to move.

He strained his ears to listen as, finally, the men began to talk. Definitely Gestapo, then, he thought, as the conversation turned to Hochstetter. Hochstetter had planned the entire operation, sending two of his men along the other road as a diversion while these two made the capture. Hochstetter, according to the car's occupants, had finally flipped. Berlin would have his head if they found out. All they could do, the two soldiers concluded, was follow orders to the letter, no more and no less. If they asked no questions they just might avoid falling along with Hochstetter.

As they began to speculate on just how Hochstetter planned to get Hogan to talk, Carter shuddered, remembering the weeks of pain and illness the Colonel had endured after Hochstetter's last attack. It was going to happen again, he thought in horror, and this time there would be no one to make Hochstetter stop. Carter gulped nervously. No one but him, anyway. Do your best, Andrew, he told himself. He'd do the same for you.


	9. Chapter 9

Kinch climbed up through the bunk opening, to be met by expectant faces. "Nothing," he said.

"There's got to be something!" exclaimed Newkirk. "I'll be its that bloody Hochstetter!"

Kinch shook his head. "None of our contacts have heard a thing. No new prisoner intakes at Gestapo HQ."

"We should be out there looking for them!" exclaimed Lebeau.

"The woods are crawling with guards," sighed Kinch. "We have to wait."

"I hate waiting!" declared Lebeau petulantly.

"Who doesn't?" muttered Newkirk, lighting a cigarette.

The night passed slowly and sleeplessly for the prisoners. Baker, who'd been monitoring the phone lines, told Kinch in the early hours of the morning that Klink had finally reported the missing prisoners to the Gestapo.

"Now we must put up with that cochon Hochstetter stomping around and bellowing!" complained Lebeau as they began to get ready for roll call. Schultz came to call them, looking tired and subdued, and merely shook his head at the hopeful looks he received.

Rollcall was shaping up to be a long one. Klink, in a highly agitated state, was threatening the entire camp with punitive measures unless someone came forward with information. "Hurry up," muttered Newkirk. "Freezing my arse off here."

"Quiet," Kinch whispered, sensing Klink was in no mood for heckling. Luckily the Commandant was too busy ranting to notice.

Relief came from an unexpected quarter, as a Gestapo car came through the gates. "Dismissed!" shouted Klink hastily, and rushed towards the car. Kinch looked back as they headed towards the barracks, in time to see that instead of Hochstetter, a lieutenant emerged from the car, whom Kinch recognised as one of the men from the car on the road the day before. Inside he quickly headed into Hogan's office, setting up the coffeepot as Newkirk and Lebeau followed him.

"So, Lieutenant Weiss, what can I get you?" Klink offered ingratiatingly. "A little schnapps, perhaps, to warm you up?"

"Danke, Colonel," said the lieutenant, surprisingly civilly. He raised the glass. "To the Fuehrer!"

"The Fuehrer," Klink echoed, and they drank.

"I am standing in," Weiss explained, "for Major Hochstetter, who is on leave at present."

"Leave?" echoed Klink in surprise, having never acquainted Hochstetter with such mundane activities as taking holidays.

"He is very hard working," Weiss commented in mild disapproval.

"Oh, yes, yes," Klink agreed hastily. "No one is more deserving."

"Anyway," said Weiss, taking out a notebook and pencil, "I'll take a few details. We are looking for two Americans, you said on the phone?"

"Yes," Klink nodded. "Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Carter. Here are their files." He pushed them over the desk.

Weiss opened them and flicked through, taking a few notes. "I'll take the photos," he said. "And they went missing when?"

"Ah … yesterday afternoon, from a work detail," replied Klink, bracing himself for demands about why the Gestapo weren't called earlier.

To his surprise, Weiss didn't comment. "Hmm," he said. "Took off into the woods, I expect. I do wish you camp commandants would hold onto your prisoners a little better. We do have other things to do, you know."

"There has never been an escape from Stalag 13, Lieutenant!" objected Klink.

"Until now," Weiss reminded him smugly.

"Until now," Klink agreed sullenly.

Weiss got up. "Well, we'll keep an eye out. Can't imagine they'll get far in this weather. They'll either think better of it and give themselves up, or freeze to death. Either way, no great loss." He laughed. "Heil Hitler."

"Uh … Heil Hitler," said Klink blankly, as the door closed behind Weiss. While he was grateful for the Gestapo's departure, he was a bit surprised Weiss hadn't wanted to question Schultz and the guards, or the other prisoners on the detail. He almost seemed … disinterested. Given Hochstetter's long running obsession with Hogan, this was very strange.

He was still mulling this over when there was a knock at the door. "Come," he called out. Kinch entered the room. "Sergeant Kinchloe, I'm very busy!" snapped Klink.

"Yes, Commandant, I know, and I'm sorry," said Kinch, "But I wanted to talk to you, sir, about Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Carter."

"Do you have information?" Klink asked hopefully.

"Uh … no sir, but …"

"Then I don't have time. Dismissed!"

"But sir, I don't think they escaped!"

Klink gave a derisive snort. "Yes, Schultz told me you were saying that last night. You expect me to swallow that?"

"Commandant, sir," Kinch said pleadingly, "it's freezing out there. There's more snow coming. Do you honestly think a man as smart as Colonel Hogan would just take off in this weather, completely unprepared? Sir, he's just not that stupid."

"Maybe he received outside help, hmm?" said Klink suspiciously.

"How could he?" asked Kinch.

"How should I know?" demanded Klink. "As you say, he's not that stupid. Now, dismissed!"

Kinch, conceding defeated, saluted and withdrew.

Klink spent no more thought on the conversation, his mind already moving onto his next problem, reporting the escape to Burkhalter. He was on such a slippery slope with that man, and he could see the Russian front looming before him. He started wondering if a sacrifice might not appease Burkhalter's wrath. After all, he'd trusted command of the work detail to his sergeant of the guards, who had proved unworthy of that trust. Klink pulled out a piece of paper and began to compose his report. Survival of the fittest, he told himself.

As he was crossing the compound back to Barracks 2, Kinch saw the dog truck pull up, with Schnitzer giving their pre- arranged signal as he got out. Damn it, we weren't expecting anyone, Kinch thought, cursing the bad timing. He quickly sent Lebeau to the kennel entrance to help the escapee inside, told Newkirk to help the man from the truck to the kennel, and went himself to distract Schultz.

Once the job was done he turned towards Barracks 2, expecting Newkirk to follow. "Gotta get Wilson," Newkirk explained, and took off towards Barracks 5. Injured too, thought Kinch wearily. Marvellous. All we need now is for London to announce a mission, and my day will be complete.

He descended into the tunnel, and made his way to where the new arrival was apparently passed out on a camp bed, with Lebeau hovering anxiously nearby. "How badly hurt is he?"

Lebeau shrugged. "I do not know. He just lay down and went to sleep. Kinch, it is Captain Harkness."

Kinch stared. "What?"


	10. Chapter 10

Hogan flexed his fingers to try to restore some feeling in them. The ropes that bound him to the chair he was sitting on were cruelly tight, and the cellar he found himself was freezing, not helped by his jacket and shoes having been removed. He tried to curl his toes inward and away from the damp cellar floor, but his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair and his feet were going as numb as his hands.

The two Gestapo men who had worked him over were gone, and Hochstetter now returned alone. Now for the questions, thought Hogan, having already noticed various items in the room that he expected were to be used on him in the near future. Hochstetter placed another chair opposite Hogan and sat down, smiling faintly. He didn't say a word.

After a few minutes of silence, Hogan was getting agitated. That's the idea, he reminded himself. He's trying to get you off guard. His body ached where it wasn't numb, and he was freezing. He was feeling odd too, light headed, almost floating. He couldn't be freezing to death yet, and he was reasonably sure he hadn't had any major blows to the head, so he wasn't sure quite what he was feeling. He glanced at Hochstetter, to see the man lick his lips, almost as if he was savouring something tasty. Hogan had a sudden irrational thought that Hochstetter was tasting him. His head swam as if in response. That's ridiculous, he told himself sharply. Get a grip.

Time to break the deadlock. "Much as I'm enjoying your hospitality, Major …"

"Yes?" said the Major softly.

"is there a reason for this visit?"

"Reason," echoed Hochstetter.

"Cos I think I might have missed lights out, and dad's gonna be mad."

Hochstetter nodded. "Probably."

"So why don't you cut to the chase and tell me what you want?"

"What I want," murmured the major.

"Yes!" snapped Hogan. "I can't help you, Major, I don't know anything."

The face before him broke into a beatific smile. "But I don't care what you know."

Hogan, seeing this, was suddenly more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. He swallowed. "They'll be looking for me."

"Not here."

"Won't you be missed?"

That creepy smile again. "I'm on leave." Hochstetter leaned forward and touched Hogan's bruised face, almost tenderly. Hogan felt dizzy again, as Hochstetter whispered, "We have plenty of time."

Hogan had another thought, as irrational as the previous one, but harder to disregard. This isn't Hochstetter, he thought. I don't know who this is.

Consciousness slipped away, and so he missed Hochstetter's friends returning, dragging Carter between them. Carter's eyes widened when he saw the Colonel slumped in the chair. "What have you done to him?" he yelled. "You leave Colonel Hogan alone, you hear me?"

The Gestapo men laughed, as Hochstetter picked up a baton that had been leaning against the wall and swung it suddenly into Carter's knee. There was a crack, and Carter collapsed, screaming. Hochstetter licked his lips, closing his eyes for a moment. The two men glanced at each other uneasily. Their superior did seem to be behaving very strangely. But they had their orders.


	11. Chapter 11

The captain didn't stir, even while Sergeant Wilson was examining him. To the others' surprise he reported few injuries, but when he added that the Captain's apparent extreme exhaustion could best be explained by sleep deprivation they understood. Wilson instructed them to let the man sleep as long as he needed, and then returned to his barracks. Lebeau withdrew, swearing about Germans and planning a nourishing meal for the Captain once he woke, leaving Kinch and Newkirk in the tunnel. They withdrew to the radio room so they could talk without disturbing him.

"What are we going to do, Kinch?" asked Newkirk, hating how lost he sounded.

"I don't know," Kinch admitted. "I don't know what to do."

"What do we tell the others?"

"That we carry on, that we'll find the Colonel…"

"That everything'll be dandy?" Newkirk broke in bitterly.

"You got any better suggestions?" Kinch retorted.

Newkirk seemed to deflate. "No, mate, course not, sorry."

"The Colonel would want us to carry on," Kinch said decisively. "So that's what we need to do."

Jack slept uninterrupted for hours, waking in the late evening, and wondering for a few moments where he was. Slowly memory returned, and he sat up, rubbing his face and looking around him. He knew from reports of Freti survivors that their feeding left the victim with severe exhaustion along with their injuries, which often took weeks to overcome. Jack, of course, was already feeling much better, though he sensed he would need some more sleep before he could be completely recovered from the experience.

As he rose and began to move along the tunnel, the last words of the Freti as it died returned to him. It had thrown his failure in his face, boasting that it had given birth and its child was gone. So after escaping the lab and lying low, he'd had no choice but to take the escape route that led through Stalag 13. He hoped he could have a private chat with Hogan, maybe get some ideas where to search from someone on the ground. He couldn't go back to England yet, not til the job was done.

Following the sound of voices, he came to the radio room, where Lebeau stood chatting to Kinch, a coffee pot in hand. "Mon Capitaine, you are awake!" Lebeau exclaimed. "You will be hungry. I will prepared some food." He scurried off before Jack could get a word in.

Jack and Kinch stared at each other for a moment. "Captain Jack Harkness," said Jack finally, with a smile.

"I'm sorry, sir." Kinch snapped out of his surprise and stood, saluting. "Sergean Ivan Kinchloe."

Jack returned the salute casually, and looked for a seat, waving at Kinch to sit as well. "How are you feeling, sir?" Kinch asked.

"Better." Jack rubbed his eyes. "Just tired. I need to speak to Colonel Hogan."

Kinch hesitated. "Ah. Yes, well …"

Jack frowned. "What's the problem? Is he out on a job? I am cleared, if that's what's worrying you."

"No, sir, that's not it." Kinch took a deep breath. "Colonel Hogan is missing, sir."

Jack stared at him. "Missing?" he repeated blankly.

He searched his memory for what he knew of this period. They'd studied espionage technique in the Time Agency, and the lecturer had talked a great deal about spy masters of the past. Robert Hogan, aka Papa Bear, had featured prominently, and Jack knew he was supposed to survive the war. To be missing now … the timing was suspicious, though he couldn't immediately see how it could be connected to his own predicament.

At that moment Lebeau reappeared with a plate of food. He caught the atmosphere immediately. "You told him then," he said to Kinch.

Jack thanked Lebeau for the food, and returned his attention to Kinch. "Start at the beginning."

By the time Kinch had finished the story, Jack was very worried. Everything he remembered about history told him something was not right. Hogan and his team survived the war, he was positive, and certainly had more work to do between now and the war's end.

This could be nothing, he told himself. It could be an incident among a number of incidents that would be resolved without his help. How could it have anything to do with his failure?

Hochstetter, he concluded. Hochstetter hated Hogan, and Hochstetter had a connection with Hoffmann. From what Jack had seen, Hochstetter would be an ideal candidate for a Freti host. The timing could be coincidence, but its an awfully big coincidence. "So, this offside of Hochstetter's said he was on leave?"

Kinch nodded. "His behaviour was odd, sir. The Gestapo would be all over an escape like this normally. Hochstetter wouldn't stay on leave, not unless he already knows where Colonel Hogan is."

A juvenile Freti, mused Jack. A baby without its parent. What do babies want? Food. It has access to the host's memories and feelings, with no adult to monitor and explain. Would that make it fixate on Hogan? Jack sighed in frustration. He didn't know enough about them. Nobody did.

All right. Assuming Hochstetter is now a Freti, where would he take his meal. Freti are instinctive hunters. In hostile territory a hunter takes its prey somewhere it won't be disturbed, but it wouldn't want to go too far. It would be keen to start feeding, after all. "Where does Hochstetter normally go on holiday?"

The others shrugged. "Didn't know he took holidays," said Lebeau.

"We had the underground go by his home," Kinch said. "Definitely no one at home."

"Does … does Hochstetter like to hunt?"

"Other than people, you mean?" snapped Lebeau.

"You're thinking of a hunting cabin?" Kinch asked.

Jack nodded. "Get your underground friends to check if he owns one, or even may have the use of someone else's, a friend or colleague."

Kinch, eager to have something to work on, turned back to the radio. Lebeau said he was going back upstairs to fill Newkirk in, and Jack decided to get some more sleep, until there was some news.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack sat, deep in thought, disregarding for the moment the three men who observed him from a distance. He'd been, surprisingly, right in his guess. Hochstetter was renting a hunting cabin, and Underground agents had observed two known Gestapo men patrolling the immediate vicinity in plain clothes.

That at least meant the Freti was not finished, Jack mused, so they weren't too late yet. Of course they may not both be alive, he reminded himself. The next step was to go to the cabin, deal with the Freti and free the prisoners. He could do it alone, but these men knew the area and it would be a lot easier to take one of them with him. But which one?

Lebeau he dismissed almost immediately. He had heard Newkirk joke about Lebeau's squeamishness, and he was expecting to see a lot of blood inside that cabin. He couldn't risk a companion who might freeze at the sight.

That left Kinch and Newkirk. They seemed equally capable, and would certainly be willing. Would Kinch be happy about disregarding Hogan's standing orders to kill only as a last resort? Would he accept without question that the Gestapo men at that cabin had to die, whether they resisted or not? He didn't think so. Kinch seemed … too decent, Jack thought wryly. And that left the obvious choice.

"Corporal Newkirk," he said. "You're with me."

He was grateful they didn't question or argue. He didn't want to have to make it an order. It was bad enough that he was there at all, making a possibly catastrophic impact on the future. He had tried to avoid the major events of history since being stranded on Earth, but every now and he would inadvertently stumble into something he should not be meddling with.

Later, as he and Newkirk followed their guide through the woods, he wondered if the whole thing had been somehow inevitable, ever since he'd first blundered into a young Robert Hogan's life in a peaceful Connecticut town, where he'd tracked a stranded Plasmavore. That was when, just as inadvertently, he'd discovered one of history's great mysteries, how Papa Bear got away with what he did. Jack watched the thirteen year old talk the very hungry alien out of draining the blood out of both of them, and his own limited telepathy made it all clear. Robert Hogan was a broadcasting empathy, what in the future would be commonly known as a 'pusher', and didn't even know it. People would say he had the gift of the gab, could sell ice to eskimoes, and so on, and the man would no doubt believe that himself, never understanding that he was convincing others, not with his words, but with his mind.

So the future had already been affected, Jack thought now, with the youngster discovering things he should not know, like the existence of aliens, not to mention his own existence, a man who could not die or grow old. Maybe these events, and his participation in them, had now become part of the time line. He gave himself a mental shake. There was no way to tell, and no way he could move except forward.

As they reached the cabin Jack dismissed the guide. He had already outlined to Newkirk what was expected, but now felt compelled to add, "You understand? No hesitation. Everybody dies." Newkirk nodded tightly.

They crouched in the bushes, waiting. Soon enough, footsteps approached, and they watched as two men strolled past, chatting. The two main topics of conversation seemed to be how cold it was and whether Hochstetter had lost his mind. Jack and Newkirk crept up behind them, knives ready. It was all over in a few moments, and they dragged the body into the bushes.

"It's awfully quiet," Newkirk whispered as they turned towards the house.

"I imagine we'll be looking for a cellar," Jack whispered back. "Come on."


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: I have to apologise. You see, it never occurred to me that I should give a warning for character death for a baddy. I didn't think anyone would mind if it wasn't one of the good guys. Some comments, however, showed me otherwise, so I have given the story considerable thought before continuing. So, to all Hochstetter fans, I am very very sorry. Wofie's toast. WARNING: Character death. Apologies for not doing so earlier, folks. _

Carter lay curled up on the floor, coughing, but too weak to move out of his own mess. Since Hochstetter's men had removed his and the Colonel's clothes, and chained his wrists and ankles, Hochstetter had delivered kicks and blows to his body, leaving him barely able to move. Hogan, rousing himself, had demanded Hochstetter leave Carter alone, and curiously enough, he had.  
Carter was shivering with cold, his knee was on fire and the rest of his body throbbing. He wanted to get off the floor, and go to the Colonel, and was at a loss to explain his lassitude, which seemed out of proportion to his injuries. He wondered miserably if he was really a coward, if his apparent inability to get up was just an excuse to cover his fear. And he was sick with fear. Hochstetter had always been intimidating, but in this place he'd metamorphosed into something Carter could only describe as evil. There was none of the shouting and bluster Carter was used to from the Nazis, no questions. Just torment.

Hogan was manacled, hanging from chains that had been hastily thrown over a beam to hold him up. His hands were swollen and misshapen from broken fingers, his body covered with burns, welts and bruises. He had screamed til he was hoarse long since, and no longer had the energy to do more than moan as Hochstetter cut his body shallowly but repeatedly with a knife. Blood trickled down his body and dripped onto the floor. His thoughts were fuzzy, floating, and the pain, while excruciating, seemed somehow very far away, like it was happening to someone else. He's eating me, he thought again, the idea somehow not so outrageous any more. Not human, he thought. Monster. Jack would know. Wonder what happened to him?

Carter. Got to save Carter. Got to ... can't think. Can't speak. Can't ... God, I think I'm dying.

The Freti paused, and went to a table where his subordinates had left a jug of water and a glass. The host needed rehydration after effort, so he put down the bloody knife and poured himself a drink. the cellar was full of the redolent smell and taste of pain. The Freti sighed in bliss. This was exquisite, this feeding, and it just wanted to go on eating and eating. It didn't know it was overeating. It was only a child.

It sat and watched the human Hogan, wondering about the host's thoughts. The creature didn't seem so dangerous, really. It wondered why the host hadn't simply killed this one. It had killed others. There was something about rules, and being prevented, in the host's memories. the Freti found this incomprehensible, and soon abandoned the thoughts, contemplating instead the knife he'd been using. Time for a change? it wondered. It looked around the cell, passing over the other human without pause. It was aware of the human, but didn't recall how it had planned to consume them both.

The door at the top of the stairs opened. "Who is it?" snarled the Freti. "I said I was not to be disturbed!"

"Message for you, Major," said a voice. The host's memories were alerted. The voice was known, and it was not one of his men.

The Freti darted behind the dangling figure of Hogan, pulling his gun. "Don't you know it's rude to interrupt a man during his meal?"

"What are you on about, you mad bastard?" shouted Newkirk, as he and Jack held their weapons on Hochstetter from the stairway. "Drop it!"

"I think not," said the Freti. "I think you will 'drop it', or I will shoot your Colonel in the head."

Incongruously, Jack laughed. Newkirk glanced at him in shock, though not lowering his gun. "And ruin a feast like this?" Jack asked. "No you won't."

The Freti looked puzzled. "What do you know about the feast?"

Jack shrugged. "This and that. " He holstered his gun and sauntered past the surprised Newkirk, whispering, "Be ready to shoot," and paused on the bottom step.

"Do not approach!" hissed the Freti, pressing the gun against Hogan's head.

"Okay," said Jack calmly, remaining on the bottom step.

"You will drop your weapons," the Freti insisted.

"We will do no such thing," Jack retorted. "Stalemate, isn't it?" He looked around the cellar, his gaze flicking over Carter, who was slowly crawling towards the Freti from behind. "Nice torture chamber," said Jack in a friendly manner.

Carter had been conscious since before Jack and Newkirk's arrival, and watched groggily as Hochstetter used Hogan's body as a shield. But as the German angled to face the stairs, he turned his back on Carter and appeared to have completely forgotten his presence. Time to do something, Carter told himself, and painfully began to move.

"If you really want an all-you-can-eat buffet," Jack said cheerfully, "I can think of a much better option than what you've got there. I mean," he looked Hogan up and down, "you are nearly done there, and then what?"

"Then I hunt," snarled the Freti

"Why bother?" asked Jack, smiling, as he stepped closer. "You've got all you can eat right here."

"You would give yourself for him?" asked the Freti, apparently confused. "A willing feast? Why?"

"Well," said Jack with a wry smile, "he's supposed to be here, and I am not."

The Freti moved its gun from Hogan's head towards Jack, and in that moment, with a sudden clank of chains, Carter rose up behind and swung his chains at the Freti's head. The gun clattered to the floor as the creature staggered forward, out from the cover Hogan had provided. Jack leapt to one side, pulling Carter with him, as Newkirk fired his gun repeatedly. The Freti collapsed, face down.

"Stop!" Jack ordered, as Newkirk was about to rush forward.

"But ..."

"Don't move!" Jack lowered Carter gently to the floor, and stepped over to the body, where to Newkirk's horror and confusion, a pool of viscous liquid was appearing around Hochstetter's head. The liquid started flowing of it's own accord, towards Carter. "Oh no you don't!" said Jack, plunging one hand into the mess. The substance immediately changed, flowing around his hand and forearm. It formed a tendril which began to reach out to his face. Jack held it well away from himself, as he reached in his pocket with his other hand, pulling out a small vial. Newkirk thought it looked like something from Carter's lab. Jack uncorked the vial, and poured the contents onto the substance. It hissed and bubbled.

"It's burning you!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"It's acid, of course it's burning me," Jack retorted through clenched teeth. He shook his hand, and the substance, now charred residue, fell off onto the floor. Jack fished out a handkerchief and wrapped it carefully around his blistered hand.

"I ... I ... blimey, I ..." Newkirk stammered.

"I think your services are required," Jack commented, nodding towards the prisoners. "Nice shooting, by the way."

Newkirk, pushing aside the thoughts that were insisting he'd just witnessed a whole bunch of impossible things, hastily took out his lockpick and hurried towards the Colonel. This, at least, he knew how to handle.


	14. Chapter 14

The guards at Stalag 13 had a great deal to gossip about. First was the arrival at their gates the previous day, of a carful of drunken SS men asking if they'd lost something, before throwing the two 'escaped' prisoners from the car. Only a few hours later came the bizarre news that the Gestapo Hochstetter was dead, along with two of his staff, burned to death in an accidental housefire, that had burned so fiercely it was rumoured there was nothing left to bury. But the most popular topic of conversation was when, or indeed if, the American Colonel would wake up.

In the camp's small infirmary Carter started awake with a shout, struggling against the hands that pressed him down. "Andrew," said Lebeau. "C'est moi, ah, it is Lebeau. You are safe, mon ami."

Carter stopped struggling. "Louis, sorry, I ... sorry."

"It is fine." Lebeau handed him a cup of water, and he drank thirstily.

"Thank you." He looked over at the other bed. "Has the Colonel ..."

"No," said Lebeau, following his gaze. Hogan lay on the other bunk, his skin white underneath his cuts and bruises. Carter thought he looked dead. "The Colonel will get better," declared Lebeau reassuringly. "He would not leave us."

Carter nodded wearily, and gasped as he shifted and jarred his damaged knee. Wilson had not been encouraging about his prospects of recovery, and while he could still make the explosives, Carter knew his days of going on missions were over. A naturally cheerful person, he was completely unfamiliar with the depression he was currently experiencing, and despised himself for his self-pity and naivete. He had always believed there was good in people, even the cruellest Nazis they'd met. After what he'd seen in that cellar, he knew better.

"You will be alright, Andrew," Lebeau said, sensing his distress. "It will get better. We will stand by you."

"Thank you," mumbled Carter, already drifting back to sleep.

Jack watched Newkirk working on stitching an SS uniform, apparently oblivious to his presence. "You needn't worry," said Newkirk suddenly.

"Worry?" asked Jack.

"I know what classified means," Newkirk said, still absorbed in his stitching. "I didn't say anything." He gave a short humourless laugh. "What the hell could I say, anyway?"

"You could have said what happened," Jack replied, coming into the room.

Newkirk looked up then, glaring. "And what the hell did happen, Captain? Hochstetter apparently flipped his lid, that much I could tell them. Except he was raving on about feasting, like he was planning to snack on the Colonel or something, and then after I shot him that gunk came out of him, only it was gunk that could move on its own, and it tried to get Andrew and then to get you, and you poured acid on it and yourself and yet there isn't a bloody mark on your hand a couple of days later, and I have no idea what …!" He broke off, suddenly aware that he was virtually yelling at an officer. He returned his attention to his work.

"What do you think you saw, Newkirk?" Jack asked.

"Nothing human," muttered Newkirk, and laughed again. "And what kind of nutter does that make me?"

Jack shrugged. "One who can see." He reached into his pocket, and handed Newkirk a card. "After the war, if you're in need of a job, ring that number. Say I referred you."

Newkirk screwed up his nose. "A Cardiff number?" he sneered. "I'm not that bloody hard up I'd go to Wales for a job."

Jack smiled. "You never know."

Newkirk looked at him warily. "Not sure I'd trust a job you recommended, Captain, if you don't mind my saying. Might be too much excitement."

Jack laughed then. "Bear it in mind." He got up.

"Will the Colonel be all right?" Newkirk asked suddenly.

"I think so," said Jack. I hope so, he thought, Hogan's continued unconsciousness alarming him considerably.

Newkirk searched his face before returning to his work without speaking. Jack turned away, suddenly feeling weary. I've done all I can, he thought. It's up to him now.

Carter returned to the barracks the next day, leaning on crutches. Kinch asked Jack if he needed them to make arrangements for him to return to England. Jack said he would hang around a little longer. Kinch wondered about that, about why a serving officer who was obviously in Intelligence had the luxury to dictate his own timetable. London gave them a munitions dump to blow up, and Jack volunteered to go with Newkirk and Lebeau to do it. Kinch accepted, and wondered again why an officer would bother to ask his permission, he a sergeant and a black man. Jack, however, showed no inclination to give orders or take over. He merely seemed to be waiting, like they were all waiting. After three more days, what they were waiting for finally happened.


	15. Chapter 15

The pain was distant to start with, but rushing rapidly closer, bearing down on him with an inevitability he couldn't escape. Lines of fire ran along his body, counterpointing the deep ache in all his muscles. His hands throbbed. There was a sound coming from somewhere nearby. Sounded like someone moaning. Someone in trouble? He wondered. No, he realised. It was him. Further away there was a dripping tap, and in the distance the sound of shouts and German commands, and what sounded like Klink's voice. Roll call. What …?

Hochstetter. Voice whispering softly, crack of breaking fingers, Carter whimpering on the ground, knife slicing through skin, eating …

Hogan's eyes flew open, memory having returned all at once. His eyes darted around. The infirmary. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered … Hogan decided he wasn't thinking about that right now, possibly not ever. Carter. Was Carter alright?

The door opened, and Hogan looked over, to find Lebeau staring at him with his mouth open. The Frenchman gaped for only a moment, then turned and shouted, 'Kinch! Wilson!' Then he was by the bed. 'Mon Colonel, you are awake! Mon Dieu, we thought …'

Wilson appeared next to LeBeau. He looked across the bed. 'Water.'

Kinch appeared at the other side of the bed, lifting Hogan's head gently, and holding a cup to his lips. He allowed Hogan only a few sips before he removed it. 'You can have some more in a minute,' said Wilson.

'Carter?' Hogan whispered.

'He's fine,' Wilson assured him.

'He's back in the barracks, sir,' Kinch explained. 'He's doing okay.'

'How's the pain?' Wilson wanted to know.

Hogan ignored the question. 'How'd … we …'

'We didn't know where you were, sir,' said Kinch. 'It wasn't until Captain HArkness came back. He worked it out.'

'Jack?' Hogan frowned. 'What happened … Hochstetter?'

'Dead,' said Kinch, and noticed the alarm in Hogan's eyes. 'It won't come back to us, sir, I promise you. Captain Harkness saw to that.'

'That's enough,' said Wilson. 'You need to drink some more, then go back to sleep.' Hogan wanted to argue, but he could barely keep his eyes open.

'Merry Christmas, sir,' someone said, just as sleep took him.

When he woke again, it was to full sun, streaming through the half-opened window, highlighting the chair where Carter sat, his leg propped up on another chair in front of him. Carter turned quickly at Hogan's slight movement. He grinned.

"Colonel! Hello! Would you like some water?" Hogan nodded, and Carter, carefully moving his injured leg, poured a cup of water and brought it over. Hogan, partially expecting Carter to spill it, was relieved when he was helped to drink without incident, as if Carter's infirmity was making him more careful and aware than he would be normally.

"How are you?" he asked faintly as soon as he could.

"Aw I'm alright, sir" said Carter with forced cheerfulness. "We're all happy you're waking up now, sir, what with it being Christmas and all." He pointed. "We got you a tree." A small sprig with paper decorations stood on a table. He saw Hogan frowning. "Sir?"

"Christmas already?"

"Yes, sir. He …" Carter faltered. "We were there for a few days, sir."

Hogan wanted to ask how they had come to be back, but his mind was drifting, and soon he was asleep again.

From the quality of the light outside, it appeared to be sunset. He woke to a delicious smell, and opened his eyes to see Lebeau with a tray.

"Mon Colonel," exclaimed Lebeau. "You are awake for your Christmas dinner!" He took the lid from a bowl. "Which is soup, I am afraid, but Wilson says that is all you can have."

"Smells great,"Hogan commented, and Lebeau beamed.

Wilson came in at that moment. "You're looking more alert. How are you feeling?"

"I want to talk to Kinch," said Hogan, allowing Wilson to help him sit up, as it was quite obvious he would have no success on his own.

"How about you worry about that tomorrow?" suggested Wilson, as Lebeau laid out the meal and chattered about the ingredients.

"How about you go and get Kinch?" Hogan replied testily.

Wilson was quite obviously not going to budge, so Hogan turned his glower on Lebeau, who broke off his description and hurried out the door. Wilson sighed and picked up the spoon.

"You're very weak, you know."

"Painfully aware of that, thank you," snapped Hogan, preparing to endure the indignity of being fed.

Wilson, sensing his mood, said "Your left hand is not as bad as your right. If you're careful and don't try to use them too early, you should have at least partial use of your left hand within a fortnight."

Hogan looked at him in horror. "It could have been worse, Colonel."

Kinch entered at that moment. "Colonel, good to see you awake, sir."

"What happened?" asked Hogan.

"Wilson, give us a minute," said Kinch.

Wilson abandoned the soup with a disgusted snort. "You feed him!" he said, and stomped out.

Kinch took over, and while Hogan ate, he explained exactly what had occurred as they knew it.

Hogan was quiet throughout. When Kinch finished, there was silence for a while. "Is Jack still here?" Hogan asked finally.

"Yes, sir," said Kinch. "I got the impression he didn't want to leave till he knew you were alright."

"Could you bring him here after lights out?"

Kinch hesitated. "Are you up to it, sir?"

He expected to be snapped at, but Hogan just sighed. "We need to talk." Kinch nodded and turned to go. "How's Newkirk?"

Kinch paused. "All right, I think. I get the impression he's thinking it all through. But I don't think killing Hochstetter bothered him. The man was holding a gun to your head, after all."

About two hours after lights out, the infirmary entrance to the tunnel opened, and Jack slipped through. The infirmary was allowed to have low lights when there were patients, so a lamp stood on a table a good way away from the bed. Hogan was asleep. Jack sat down to wait, knowing he would not have to wait long, and wondering what he was going to say to a man who had an inconvenient habit of knowing when he was being lied to.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Hogan opened his eyes. "I thought you were buried under that lab."

"It was a bit close, but no."

"What was he?"

Jack shrugged. "Don't know what you mean."

"Don't give me that crap!" snapped Hogan. "It wasn't him. It wasn't … human. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. So what was it?"

Jack looked at him somberly, acutely aware of timelines still tenous and fragile around them. "It," he said, "is dead. It can't come back. You and your men will not be bothered again." I hope, he thought fervently.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then to Jack's relief Hogan let it go, returning to more mundane matters. "Are you sure the killings can't be traced back here?"

"You've been out for a while," said Jack. "They'd be here already, if they were coming." He grinned suddenly. "Hey, if there's something I know how to do, it's clean up a scene. Your operation is secure, I guarantee it."

Hogan was silent for a moment, and it was apparent he was struggling to stay awake. "Do you know what it was doing to me?"

"Yes," said Jack.

"Will I recover?"

"Yes."

"Good," murmured Hogan, already drifting off. "Can't keep my eyes open …"

Jack watched him sleep. He couldn't be entirely sure history had not changed, but he had done all he could. Time to get back to Torchwood. He grimaced. More's the pity.

THE END


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